


Falling Bombshells

by areyoukiddingmedude



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Bombshells (Comics)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Smut, red diamond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 20:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7068874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyoukiddingmedude/pseuds/areyoukiddingmedude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harley and Ivy fight Nazis and fall for each other. Set during World War II. </p><p>Follows the DC Bombshells run pretty closely, so Harley is a little unhinged in Chapter 1 but it's all fluff and sexytimes from there! </p><p>Always love getting feedback, so please feel free to share your take on this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s a cold December night at Arkham Ward in London, 1940. And while Dr. Harleen Quinzel is feeling the Christmas spirit, she’s also throwing herself into her work.

A bell is ringing. A patient needs her. And as the rest of the staff head to a party, Dr. Quinzel stays.

The patient is Dr. Shondra Kinsolving: formerly her colleague, now her patient. They’ve formed a special bond during this time. Harleen feels a deep connection to her, not only because she’s a doctor as well, but because if she had continued down the road she was on, she might well have ended up here too . . .

But she pushes those thoughts away, forcefully. Mr. J is an ocean away, and she’s remade herself completely trying to forget him. She’s Harleen now. Her life is devoted to helping her patients. She’s even managed to affect a British accent, calling everyone “dearie” and mentally willing the Canarsie out of her voice.

(Still – anyone who saw her in this moment, happily belting out Christmas carols as she skips down the hall of the sanitarium, would recognize instantly that Harley is alive and well in there.)

She greets Shondra with kind words and a bit later, grasps her hand, unashamed as always to show affection and offer a bit of human contact to the good people she meets in this place.

The moment feels oddly familiar, a sensation Harleen experiences regularly. Another time, another place – another life perhaps – but that hand was . . . green?

She shakes off the sensation and focuses on what Shondra is saying: “One of Arkham’s own doctors, now in her very own cell. That is _my_ story, but I do not want such a fate for _you_ , Harleen.”

Her words echo in Harleen’s mind. And once again, a memory from that other unknown world haunts her, makes her shiver – some deep part of her feels Shondra’s words hit home in a way she doesn’t understand.

She can _see_ Shondra’s visions of men with “hearts of shadow” – can smell the burning – can feel her final words “Come find me” squirming beneath her skin.

The words twist and shift inside her. The façade (or is it the real her? she never knows) starts to crack. She resists – she always resists – but she has to choose, or be torn to pieces by the pull of what other people want her to be – Mr. J, her patients, the world.

She kneels, breaks. Touches her face.

A madman bears down on her, but she’s not afraid. The madmen outside are the ones she knows how to deal with.

She turns. Dr. Harleen Quinzel is gone. The approaching inmate doesn’t stand a chance against . . . Harley Quinn!

Her foot finds his throat, and Harley finds herself again.

(The last vestiges of Dr. Quinzel wonder: is this self-actualization, or is she under _his_ control? She’s back – but who’s pulling the strings? Is she any more or less a vessel than Dr. Kinsolving?)

Her hair comes loose, her smile comes unhinged.

She sets Shondra free, blithely, says her father had it coming. Maybe she’s under his thrall again, but this time she’ll be a voice for women everywhere.

Flexible and strong, she bounces off the walls and slings a full-grown man over her shoulder. Dr. Quinzel would have locked him in his cell.

Harley strings him up and decorates him.

She steals a hat from an elf. Green in the front, red in the back. Some part of her finds the duality appealing.

Then she waltzes out the door, still singing. The song is the same, the words are still the right words. 

Now it’s a little after midnight, at The Butchered Boar.

Harley’s transformation is complete – gone is any vestige of Dr. Quinzel. Now she’s a cross between a court jester and a sexy Christmas elf. Green and red head to toe, carefree and dangerous.

The song starts to change. Now it’s “Joy to the world, _my_ lord is come.”

She feels this need to liberate the women from their men – she can’t fight his power herself, not now, but she can make damn sure no one else gets used.

When one of them says “The girls are ours,” it’s on. She starts a fight, slips out of the fray. She’s not in it for the fight, she’s in it for the mayhem. Stir up trouble and slip away.

And suddenly, there he is. He’s handsome, witty, he’s onto her. And – he has a plane. His name is Hal.

She gets him alone in the hangar – not for the reason he thinks. It’s just them, his plane, and a lonely little nativity scene. Have you seen this one? The old “distract with a card, steal the key to the plane, wallop him with a plywood camel” trick?

She’s being pulled to Berlin, and this plane is her ticket. To France, and then on to whatever awaits.

Turns out the doctor is also a pilot. With a barrel roll, and a “Merry Christmaaaaaas, London!” she’s out of there.

Shot down over the English Channel, on the France side. Now the song is completely different, as she gets blown out of the sky and gleefully rides a bomb to earth, singing all the way down. The gal knows how to make an entrance, also how to crash into a greenhouse and walk away with nothing more than a bump on the head.

And then – a vision. Is she real? Or a Christmas-and-concussion-fueled fantasy? Hair of fire, a look of fury in her blazing green eyes, pointing a gun at Harley and calling her a devil in French.

Naturally, Harley is smitten. Her glee is literally disarming, her grip around Red’s waist sustaining, and they go from gun-pointing to eye-rolling to hand-holding in a flash.

Harley looks. Red is a smuggler, a connoisseur of luxuries. A girl after Harley’s heart.

She’s also secretive, and has a temper, and a pinup calendar, and when she catches Harley looking, she snaps. She threatens to bury her with the others, the Nazis, and – dear Lord – she turns _green_.

Harley likes it.

She’s finally quiet, still, as Red tells her story. A story of deception, seduction, betrayal – and violence. 

It’s violence that brought them together – a plane bombed clear out of the sky, a fall from heaven to green, green earth. And it’s the promise of violence that keeps them together now.

When the green one wants to stay home, the pale one can (now? some other time and place? always?) lure her out with that promise. She grips her hands, looks into her eyes, freezes her with a mention of her “beau” and just as quickly thaws her again.

Ivy’s getting Nazis for Christmas. Harley doesn’t know it yet (even though she said it), but she’s getting Ivy.

They’ve found her now. A shooting star, a missile plummeting to earth – these things can’t be missed.

A barrel, a handle, and now her transformation is complete. The face, the smile, the clothes, the madness – she was only missing one thing, one beautiful wooden smash-y thing.

Pamela (for that’s the Frenchwoman’s name) can only watch, shocked, as they pound on the door – and Harley pounds on their heads.

Harley is fluid, fearless, cunning. She’s madness and mayhem in a tiny blonde package.

She gets in over her head, then just as quickly vaults over theirs. Now the missile doesn’t disappoint, and for the second time tonight, Harley gleefully rides out on an explosion.  

There’s banter and more eye-rolling, contraband a-flying – and for the first time since her transformation, Harley once more finds the real words to the song.

Next chapter: The joyride! The tension! Harley’s past!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is a little different than other Red Diamond (Harley/Ivy) stuff I’ve done in the past. So far it’s been from Harley’s point of view, more or less, and she’s a bit of an unreliable witness. The more she’s under the Joker’s thrall, the more disjointed it gets. 
> 
> But luckily, there’s one person who can (usually) keep Harley sane…and this chapter is from her perspective.

They barrel eastward across France toward Germany, in a beat-up jalopy full of high-end contraband, leaving a swath of dead (soon to be undead) Nazis behind them.

Pamela doesn’t know how she got here, doesn’t recognize herself. She drives, and Harley sings. She shoots, and Harley bashes Nazi heads with her improvised mallet.

She’s full-on green now, as green as the truck they ride in. With Harley, there’s no need to hide her true self.

Harley’s belting out “The Harley and the Ivyyy” – and she likes it. It works. _They_ work.

Pamela realizes with a jolt that this can be her. This green, freefalling, joyriding person she’s become – this is _Ivy_. In that moment, she leaves Pamela behind: cool, controlled, hiding-in-a-greenhouse Pamela. She’s Ivy now.

Just then, Harley leans out the window right as Ivy guns it around a curve. She shrieks, half gleefully, as she starts to fly out of the truck.

It’s luck and lightning-quick reflexes that have Ivy grabbing for the only thing she can reach, the back of Harley’s shorts.

Her fingers clutch desperately around faux fur and green fabric as the back of her hand slides against impossibly smooth skin. Ivy bites her lower lip in concentration, keeping the truck steady and hauling Harley back in.

She removes her hand (reluctantly) and pulls to the side of the road for a minute. They’re both breathing heavily – from exertion, from excitement, from the near miss they just had – and from something else.

“Good catch, Red!” She can _feel_ Harley grinning at her, and slowly, slowly Ivy turns to meet her eyes.

“ _Merci_ ,” she says, biting her lip again, this time in sudden shyness. “Harley – do you need – I mean, I noticed you weren’t wearing any –” and Ivy blushes furiously, she can feel it, wonders idly how dark it shows up on her green cheeks.

Harley’s still grinning at her, but as she tries to understand, her nose wrinkles a little in concentration. Ivy thinks she’s never seen anything so adorable. Then, realization dawns: “Ohhh! You mean – ha ha – guess I sort of made a quick change or two on the trip, and didn’t have time to pack any unmentionables.”

Harley puts the back of her hand to her forehead, embarrassed. Then she perks up. “Hey, we got crates of loot in the back! Whaddaya say you and I go shopping, see if we can’t find some nicer duds?”

Ivy doesn’t even answer, just loses herself in Harley’s smile, turns off the car and slides out.

They dig through boxes and manage to put together two outfits: a sensible green blouse, black skirt and pumps for Ivy, and…well, a much less sensible, much more Harley-ish ensemble of bra top, short shorts, bomber jacket, thigh highs, and boots.

Ivy tries not to watch, really she does. Even if she manages to keep laughing, this girl has obviously been through a lot and Ivy doesn’t want to add to that.

But _Dieu_ , when she bends over to slide those stockings up her long, toned legs…Ivy knows she’s staring. And when Harley peeks back at her with that cheeky grin, Ivy realizes that she doesn’t ever want to stop looking at her.

They make it to Berlin. Ivy’s almost vibrating with anticipation, pressing her thighs together in a vain attempt to slow the beating of her heart and dull the ache between her legs. If asked, she wouldn’t even be able to articulate _what_ she’s anticipating. Danger, adventure, and perhaps most thrilling of all – whatever is going to happen between her and Harley.

Harley fills her in a bit more on the way, about the vision Dr. Kinsolving shared that’s leading them here, to the Cabaret of the Joker’s Daughter. (And who would have ever believed that careful, scientific Pamela Ysley would follow the visions of a girl so deliciously unhinged across an entire country? Yet here they are.)

They pause. There’s a heavy wooden door, a lock. Harley suggests huffing and puffing, and Ivy decides to throw caution to the wind and begin her seduction in earnest.

“Oh, there’s never a need for huffing and puffing if you have the right touch.”

She leans in close, caresses the lock, sends gentle tendrils spiraling inside. Harley is so close over her shoulder that Ivy could turn, just so, and kiss those red lips. And even though she doesn’t, can’t yet, Harley seems to feel what Ivy’s feeling just the same: “The pink cheeks right now are from the rouge and the cold, cross my heart.”

Ivy’s rose grows, shattering the lock from within and spiraling above the doorway toward the night sky.

And Ivy’s heart grows, pressing on her lungs as she breathes out, “Darling, no need to cross your heart. That is something I have no intention of breaking.”

Harley’s red-gloved hand is so close, and Ivy almost reaches for it as they cross the threshold together. But Harley says “Ooooh, I hope my fella hasn’t gotten jealous in the time we’ve been apart,” and Ivy snatches her hand back just in time, muttering that Harley’s ‘fella’ would be a fool to be jealous with a _cherie_ like her.

As they creep down a long hallway lined with mirrors, Ivy still fighting the urge to take Harley’s hand, Harley at last tells her story. The story of a “brassy, mouthy broad with a sense of humor” and the dangerous man, the dark man, that she fell for.

And as she speaks, Ivy’s contempt for “Mistah J” grows and grows. This monster, this lunatic – she seethes at what he’s put Harley through. She shivers as Harley describes the Belle of the Bog, her hair and eyes red as flame. And she mentally rejoices at the moment when Harley smashes the mirror and says, “I knew there were monsters in the world…and I knew I wouldn’t be one of them.”

But her joy is short-lived. For out of the dark, _something_ says “Oh, Harley…how about one more dance in the moonlight?”

As it slithers out of the darkness, Ivy can’t take her eyes off Harley’s face, watching how it morphs from terror to disbelief to…acquiescence? And then suddenly Harley is in the Joker’s arms, in an intimate embrace, and something snaps inside of Ivy and she can _see._

Harley says “No,” and Ivy sends her vines out to coil tightly around the witch’s neck, breaking the glamour the witch was projecting. With the spell broken, Harley can fight back now too, and Ivy’s heart soars when Harley snaps “’Master’?! Come on, lady – it’s 1941” before walloping her with the mallet.

Now Harley’s hand is wrapped securely around Ivy’s wrist, pulling her toward the doorway, and despite their current situation, Ivy’s never felt safer, more at home.

But the witch makes one desperate grab, latching on to Ivy’s ankle with murder in her eye. Ivy’s pulled taut between them for a heartbeat, until she hears her own words reflected back to her: “Been lookin’ a long time for someone with the _right touch_. And it ain’t yours.”

Ivy’s heart beats so loudly that she’s sure they can hear it, her thoughts full of nothing but Harley. And thanks to Harley, they’re free.

Crazed laughter (hers? Mr. J’s?) echoes around them as they run out into the moonlight.

They burst out into the snowy night and run until they’re mostly across a snowy, lamplit bridge. They pause, panting, and lean against the wall. Ivy is out of breath as she huffs, “She is gone? She did not follow?”

Then, amidst all the revelations of the evening, something occurs to her: “You know, _choupette_ , that accent of yours gets, ah, curiouser and curiouser…”

Harley says, “That’s what you get for choosing a girl with a sense of humor. Three-dimensional characters always come with confusing backstories.”

Ivy’s heart once again swells. She tucks her hair behind one ear, leans in a bit, and softly says, “Oh, I have chosen a girl, have I?”

Harley does that adorable thing when she’s embarrassed, putting the back of her hand to her head as she stammers, “Oh, I meant – ah – ah – figure of speech where I’m – um –”

But she doesn’t need to finish that thought, because Ivy is sweeping her into an embrace. Harley’s hands find Ivy’s face, their lips a breath apart, Harley’s wide-eyed smile a beautiful contrast to Ivy’s own heavy-lidded smirk as Ivy urges, “Come here, _cherie_. There are sweeter things to do in the moonlight…than dance.”

And finally their lips meet, under the moon and the stars, as the lamplight shines on the falling snow. Vines twine around them and up the lamppost, a subconscious expression of this new beginning.

Both women close their eyes as the kiss intensifies. Harley clutches Ivy’s face as if it’s a lifeline, and Ivy (at last unrestrained) lets her hands slide down to cup Harley’s perfect little ass.

Harley smiles against Ivy’s lips. “I knew you liked that,” she whispers.

“ _Non, cherie,_ I love it,” Ivy murmurs. She continues lightly caressing Harley through her tiny shorts, then suddenly _pulls_ so that their bodies are flush together. They both gasp at the sudden, intimate contact, and their eyes fly open, then darken with mutual understanding.

Ivy slowly maneuvers them over to the wall until Harley is pressed against it, scraping the backs of her own fingers against the concrete and hissing in pain. Harley realizes what happened and brings Ivy’s hands to her mouth, gently kissing over the scraped flesh and then gently licking across the backs of Ivy’s knuckles, looking into her eyes the entire time. “I need these fingers in good condition, Red,” she murmurs. “No more scraping them on the wall.”

And then she does something that absolutely knocks Ivy speechless: she spins to face the wall, pressing one of Ivy’s hands at her collarbone and the other at her lower back. “How’s that?” she says, giving Ivy a look over one shoulder.

Ivy moans and rubs up against her, pressing her front against Harley’s back and pushing Harley harder into the wall. “ _Mon dieu, cherie,_ ” she whispers, nuzzling her nose just behind Harley’s ear. “You are going to be the death of me.”

And she plunges her hand lower, down the back of Harley’s shorts, marveling at the feel of her warm, smooth skin. She buries another moan by sinking her teeth into the juncture of Harley’s neck and shoulder as she delicately caresses first one side of Harley’s smooth ass, all the way down below the curve of the cheek, and then just as gently repeats the motion on the other side. “I see you did not manage to find the box with the lingerie,” she says against Harley’s neck.

“Oh, I found it,” Harley manages to gasp out. “Just wanted…to surprise you.”

The thought that Harley has thought about this, has _planned_ this, turns Ivy on even more, and she rubs up against her once more, her breasts against Harley’s back, her center rubbing deliciously against that ass. She still has one hand down the back of Harley’s shorts, and now the other hand, the one wrapped around Harley, slips lower, descending from Harley’s collarbone to just barely tease at the top edge of her bra top.

“God, Red, you’re killin’ me,” Harley moans.

“Then I suggest we find somewhere more private to continue this,” says Ivy. She grazes her fingertips so lightly between Harley’s legs, just dips them low enough to feel the wetness there, and _growls_ as she withdraws her hand. “Somewhere private…and close.”

She takes a step back from Harley, who spins around and pulls Ivy into one last wet, dirty kiss before the two of them reluctantly break apart and, hand in hand, run off in search of a place to stay for the night.

Next chapter: More sexytimes. And then they go down beneath the streets of Berlin and have _more_ sexytimes, because I can’t help myself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...so this one is pretty much just sexytimes.   
> If you're not into that, I strongly advise against reading this chapter :)

Ivy’s connections with Selina Kyle mean that she knows an innkeeper not far away who’s sympathetic to the cause. The very first time they encounter another person on the way to the hotel, both women instinctively drop their handhold and try to saunter at a normal pace.

They discuss their plan in whispers: Harley will draw the least attention (Ivy’s hair is too hard to disguise), so she trades tops with Ivy to appear more conservative.

Of course, this means that Ivy has to stay well hidden, since Harley’s skimpy top and bomber jacket fail completely to cover Ivy’s more ample assets. It also means that when they’ve located a quiet alley to change clothes in, Harley is powerless to stop herself from pushing Ivy up against the brick wall and kissing her breathless. Ivy actually has to take Harley’s hands and hold her at arm’s length or she knows they’d both lose control.

And in this place, in this time, losing control could be deadly.

So Harley pouts as she walks away, cash in hand. And Ivy waits nervously until she sees a blonde come bouncing along, illuminated only by moonlight and its reflection on the softly falling snow, and finally she can breathe again.

She gathers Harley into a tight hug as soon as she reaches the alley and murmurs, “I was worried, _cherie_.”

Harley snuggles against her and nuzzles her neck. “Pssh, Red, I told you I could act legit for 5 minutes!” Her hand wanders to skim the bottom of Ivy’s straining bra top, her fingers dancing lightly just underneath the band.

“Apparently, that 5 minutes is up,” Ivy says, breathing a little more heavily now. “We need to hurry or I could quite possibly explode, my darling. Did you find a suitable entrance for me to sneak in through?” Harley nods against her chest, her fingers still lightly dancing back and forth.

Ivy once again has to provide enough self-control for both of them. This time, she gently takes Harley’s hands, and then spins her around so that Harley’s back is pressed against Ivy’s front, her hands gently trapped in one of Ivy’s hands between their bodies.

Ivy leans down so that her lips slide along Harley’s outer ear and whispers urgently, “Take me there now.” She lets Harley go with a little push, then trails slightly behind her as Harley leads the way to a mostly hidden side entrance to the hotel.

They hover in each other’s orbit as they climb the stairs and walk down the hall, not touching but both throbbing with anticipation and the power of their connection. When they reach their room, Harley stops outside the door and turns to face Ivy. She twirls the room key around her finger, leans in and whispers, “Are you ready for this?”

But she leans in too close, and as she twirls the keys around she accidentally gets them stuck in Ivy’s hair. Harley tries to snatch the keys back reflexively, and Ivy hisses in pain.

“Oops! Sorry!” Harley says, trying to stifle the laughter that’s threatening to bubble up. But Ivy laughs first, melodic and genuine, and she fishes the key out of her hair as they both laugh uncontrollably. Ivy wipes a tear from her eye and unlocks the door without any further ado. She pushes it open, and gestures for Harley to enter before her.

They’re not laughing anymore.

Harley slowly walks into the room, sashaying a little more than usual. Ivy watches her hungrily.

Harley turns to face her, backing into the room now. She holds out her hand. It’s all Ivy can do not to lunge for it – instead, she keeps their searing eye contact and slowly approaches Harley, kicking the door shut behind her and locking it without turning around to look. She puts her hand in Harley’s outstretched palm, but then continues sliding her fingertips along Harley’s wrist, the sensitive inside of her elbow, up around the back of her arm and her shoulder so that she’s holding the back of Harley’s neck, their bodies inches apart.

As soon as her fingers leave Harley’s hand, that hand naturally curves around Ivy’s waist.

They stand just like that for a long moment, testing their own resolve, staring into one another’s eyes. Ivy’s hand is possessive but gentle on the back of Harley’s neck. Harley can’t keep her fingers still, and she slides them up and down Ivy’s back under the bomber jacket.

And then, at the same time, they both break.

Ivy crushes their lips together while Harley pulls their bodies into closer contact, sliding a leg between Ivy’s. The kiss is hot, wet, desperate, all the more so when Ivy’s lips part and she slides her tongue against Harley’s mouth. Harley instantly tilts her head to the side and parts her lips, sucking gently on the tip of Ivy’s tongue.

Meanwhile, Harley slides her hands up Ivy’s back, right under the bomber jacket, and tugs to slide it down Ivy’s shoulders. Ivy has to let go of Harley and throw her hands back so the jacket can slide right off. Harley breaks their kiss, breathless, and brings her hands around to the front of Ivy’s shoulders, holding her at arm’s length so she can take in the sight before her.

She slides a finger down Ivy’s collarbone and trails it down to her cleavage, enjoying how Ivy’s chest is barely contained by Harley’s tiny bra top. “Green,” Harley says in a husky voice. Ivy shakes her head to clear it, confused and aroused. Harley taps that finger on Ivy’s chest and Ivy looks down. “Ah,” she says, realizing that she’s still projecting her artificial skin color. And in an instant, she’s back to her beautiful deep green hue.

Harley actually groans as the skin she’s touching turns green. She presses a wet kiss to the top of Ivy’s breast, and then skims her tongue along Ivy’s neck, not wanting to lose contact with that glorious green skin, until she reaches her mouth again.

Their kisses become more and more urgent, bruising their lips as they crush them together, over and over. Harley grabs the back of Ivy’s neck now, pulling her mouth down to meet Harley’s, while Ivy slips her hands down Harley’s sides and cups her ass. Now it’s Ivy’s turn to groan. “ _Mon dieu_ , Harley,” she gasps, “I need you.”

Harley pulls back for a moment, and her eyes darken with lust. “I’m all yours, Red,” she whispers. She takes Ivy by the hand, turns, and leads her to the bed, looking back over her shoulder almost shyly.

When they reach the bed, Harley pauses, for the first time a little unsure about what to do next. Ivy takes the opportunity to slink up behind her, pressing herself against Harley’s back, fitting their bodies together tightly in a position she’s coming to love. Her arms twine around Harley’s waist from behind, and she gradually sneaks her hands upward until her fingers are poised at the top button of Harley’s shirt (actually Ivy’s shirt that Harley’s still wearing).

They’re both breathing heavily, and Harley swears she can feel the air thickening with their desire. She leans her head to the side, giving Ivy access to lick a hot stripe up her neck. Harley moans and reaches up and behind Ivy’s neck. She turns her head so their mouths can meet in another searing kiss.

As they kiss, Ivy’s clever fingers start undoing buttons, tantalizingly slowly. She pops the first one and pulls at the fabric, exposing a bit more of Harley’s collarbone, which she strokes softly. She pops the second button and pulls the shirt a little more open.

When she pops the third button, Ivy pulls away from Harley’s eager mouth so she can look down. She slowly slides the fabric apart even further, and this time she can see Harley’s pert, naked breasts. Ivy gasps involuntarily at the sight. “Please,” Harley breathes, still watching Ivy’s eyes as they darken.

Ivy drops her mouth to the juncture of Harley’s neck and shoulder, gently sucking at the flesh there. Their height difference means that she can look over Harley’s shoulder and watch her own green fingers slowly slide inside Harley’s shirt. Her touch is tantalizingly soft as first her fingers, then her palms skim over pale breasts and pink nipples.

Harley’s so worked up that she swears she could almost come from that first touch alone. Ivy’s just ghosting her hands up and down, enjoying the feel of Harley’s skin, the heat.

She starts rubbing harder, both of them loving the friction, and then she’s using her fingers, rolling Harley’s nipples between them as she sucks harder at her neck.

Then Ivy hits some kind of breaking point, and just RIPS the shirt downward, sending the last few buttons flying. She’s unbuttoned Harley’s shorts a second later. She yanks the shirt down off of Harley’s shoulders, kissing a hot trail down from her neck to her shoulder, and then throws the shirt to the ground.

Now Ivy has unfettered access to Harley’s sweet little tits. She’s panting against the back of Harley’s neck, scattering wet kisses there while she works her nipples mercilessly. Harley arches back into her, pressed between Ivy and the bed, loving the position she’s in, breathless as Ivy ravages her. She lets out a little whine when suddenly one of Ivy’s hands is gone – but then she feels those long green fingers skimming under the waistband of her shorts, and her breath catches as she anticipates where this is going.

Just like on the bridge, Ivy slips her hand down inside the back of Harley’s shorts as her other hand continues working at Harley’s nipple. She sinks her teeth into Harley’s shoulder as her hand slips lower and she feels the warm, smooth skin of Harley’s ass, caressing it, marveling at the feel of it.

Then she slowly moves her hand to the cleft between Harley’s cheeks, slips questing fingers lower so that once again, she just gets the slightest feel of wetness on her fingertips.

And Harley practically _sobs_ , she’s so ready for her.

And now Ivy can’t hold back anymore. She pulls her hand back, knocks the shorts to the ground impatiently, bites her own lip hard enough to draw blood at the sight of all that pale, perfect skin. She gently pushes Harley in the center of her back, and Harley takes the hint and crawls up on the bed.

Ivy crawls up right behind her, grinds against her ass for a second, says through gritted teeth, “Lie down.”

Harley obeys, lying down on her stomach, still panting, rolling her hips into the bed a little frantically, trying to get some relief.

Ivy moves over her, on all fours, kisses her neck, trails lips and tongue down her spine, plants a wet kiss right at the base of her spine, lets herself caress that sweet ass one more time.

And then she stretches out over Harley and slowly, agonizingly slowly, slides one long finger into her. “Ah…you’re so wet for me,” she breathes.

Once again, Harley almost comes right then. “Jesus Christ, Red!” she moans. Ivy moves slightly to one side, straddling one of Harley’s thighs from behind, burying her face in Harley’s neck as she slowly withdraws her finger. Then she slides it back in, just as slowly.

“Please,” Harley whimpers.

“ _Qu’est-ce que tu veux?_ ” Ivy whispers against the back of her neck, her finger still buried inside Harley. The little hairs on the back of Harley’s neck stand up, and she groans.

“Take me,” Harley whispers. “Just – just fuck me, _please_.” She’s still bumping her hips into the bed, still trying to get some friction or she’s pretty sure she might die.

And finally, Ivy gives her what she wants. She pulls her finger out slowly, and then suddenly slides it back in. They start to pick up a rhythm, Ivy sliding her finger in and out and Harley pushing her hips back and forth, fucking herself on Ivy’s finger. “More,” she pants, and Ivy slips another finger in. Harley is surprisingly tight, but she’s so wet that she could probably take even more. Ivy doesn’t think they’ll have time for that, though.

Ivy rubs herself against Harley’s thigh as she fucks her. Even fully clothed she’s already close to coming, grinding against Harley’s thigh in the same rhythm her fingers are pounding inside her. She can feel Harley’s wetness growing, hears her breath come faster and faster, feels her hips buck back on Ivy’s fingers even more desperately, and now all there is is the rhythm, slipping in and out, in and out, Harley’s so close now, Ivy can _feel_ it, and then there’s a rush of wetness on her fingers and Harley’s whole body shakes, and she’s crying out, keening, something that sounds like “fuck, Red,” and Ivy can’t believe she made her fall apart like that and she rubs her pussy up, then down against the back of Harley’s thigh and then she’s coming too, falling apart, collapsing on top of Harley’s back, her fingers still working gently inside of her.

Ivy can’t breathe. She slowly withdraws her fingers (Harley shudders as she pulls them out) and just lies there. Harley’s back is covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Her hair is sweaty, messy where it falls against the pillow. She looks like she’s just been thoroughly fucked. It’s absolutely gorgeous.

Ivy’s lying half on top of her, and Harley turns her head to face her. They’re both breathing heavily, nostrils flaring. Harley grins at her. Ivy smiles back, feeling proud, feeling free.

They watch each other for a moment, catching their breath. Then they shift so that they’re facing each other on the bed. Ivy reaches out and gently pushes a sweat-soaked strand of hair off Harley’s forehead. Harley snuggles closer and rubs her nose against Ivy’s, a move that’s oddly sweet and affectionate.

“Can I ask you something?” Ivy says quietly. Harley nods, the motion making their noses bump together once more.

“This morning, you were – how do I say this – under the thrall?” Harley nods and looks a little regretful.

Ivy continues, “And – maybe it was that woman with the bad teeth, but maybe also somehow your former lover – I don’t understand the magic part of it.” She pauses, looks into Harley’s eyes. “There was this moment. It was before I strangled her with my vines, when _he_ was doing everything in his power to seduce you, and I thought he would win.” She strokes along the side of Harley’s face. Harley leans into her touch, listening, waiting.

“But you said – ‘No.’ _You said no._ I helped to dispel her magic, but I can’t stop thinking about that moment.” Ivy pauses. “How did you do that? They were controlling your mind, _cherie_ – where did you find the strength to fight?”

Harley doesn’t even have to think about it. She gives a little shrug, smiles, and says, “He called you a toxic freak. Said he was going to possess you, take you.” Harley smiles and says, more quietly, “They might have been in my mind, but there’s only one person who can touch my heart. And she promised never to break it.” She blushes and ducks her head down. “That was so cheesy!” she groans.

Ivy puts a gentle finger under Harley’s chin, tilts her head up so they’re eye to eye again. “ _Cherie_ ,” she says. “My darling.” And she kisses her, sweetly, gently.

And it’s a promise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this is pretty much just them hooking up...I wanted to prolong this little honeymoon time before they go underground, and with these two I just can't help myself!   
> If you're not into the sexy stuff, you can skip to the very end of this chapter, or just wait for Chapter 5 - I'll get back to the story eventually, promise :)

Ivy and Harley lie nose to nose, their breathing gradually returning to normal after their first time together. The hotel is quiet, the snow falls softly outside their window, Harley’s hair shines softly in the moonlight, and it feels to Ivy like they’re the only two people in the world.

Harley smiles gently and says, “Did I mention that that was amazing?” She blows a piece of hair off her forehead and rolls over onto her back contentedly. “Like, mind-blowing, mallet-smashing, super…amazing.”

Ivy stays on her side, facing Harley. “What was, cherie?” she teased. “Our drive across France…” she trails a hand from Harley’s shoulder down to her wrist – “The time we switched clothes in the alley…” that hand trails languidly across Harley’s torso – “Holding hands as we hurried to the hotel, desperate to touch one another…” now the hand swoops down to draw slow circles around Harley’s navel, stopping right above her mound, where Ivy drums her fingers lightly, absently.

Harley lets out a tiny, involuntary moan, and Ivy feels her hips pushing lightly upward. She leans closer, nuzzling Harley’s ear and whispering, “Or was there something else you found amazing, my darling?” She lightly sucks at Harley’s earlobe, waiting for a response.

The younger woman is barely holding herself together – Ivy can feel her practically vibrating in anticipation, can hear her breath quickening, and it turns Ivy on beyond reason to see the effect she has on her. She restrains herself from rubbing against Harley’s leg, not wanting this to be about her own pleasure.

After a beat, Harley manages to whisper, “The way you f…”

“Say it,” Ivy hisses in her ear, now rubbing light circles on Harley’s lower abdomen where before she was tapping her fingers.

“The way you – fucked me,” Harley groans. She turns her head to capture Ivy’s lips in a desperate kiss, and then breathes, “Oh god, Ivy, please…”

Ivy is on top of her in a heartbeat. She straddles Harley’s hips and props herself up on her forearms, looking down at the blonde as she lies there, biting her lower lip and looking at Ivy so desperately. Ivy gently slides against her, and Harley gasps as the front of Ivy’s skirt comes into contact with Harley’s still-wet center. “Need you…naked,” Harley says.

Without a word, without breaking eye contact or ceasing her gentle rocking against Harley, Ivy reaches behind her back and unclasps the too-small top that her breasts are currently spilling out of. Before she’s even finished flinging it to the side, Harley reaches up and almost reverently caresses the tops, then the underside of Ivy’s breasts. “Beautiful,” she breathes, continuing her slow ministrations until Ivy’s nipples are puckered in anticipation.

Then finally, Harley lets both of her thumbs skim lightly over Ivy’s nipples. Now it’s Ivy’s turn to moan, and she arches her back, pressing her breasts more fully into Harley’s hands and continuing to move her hips against her.

Harley licks her lips, transfixed. “I know _you’re_ kind of an ass man,” she says with half a grin, flicking her eyes up for a second to look at Ivy, “but swear to God, I could stay right here all day.” Then she lunges forward, wrapping her arms tight around Ivy’s torso to anchor herself as she presses just her lips to one of Ivy’s straining nipples.

That light touch has Ivy practically whimpering for more, but all Harley does is to press chaste kisses all over Ivy’s breasts, slowly, taking her time and exploring every magnificent green inch. “God, you’re beautiful,” she murmurs against Ivy’s heart.

Now Ivy’s the one begging. “ _S’il te plait_ , Harley,” she urges, rocking against her faster now.

And finally, _finally_ , Harley’s tongue licks out and slides around Ivy’s nipple. They both moan at the contact as Harley swirls her tongue around, agonizingly slow at first but picking up in speed and intensity. Then she sucks hard, and Ivy feels her nipple slide into Harley’s warm wet mouth, that tongue still swirling around, and she throws her head back. “ _Dieu_ , that feels amazing,” she manages to pant out.

“Sweetheart, I’m just gettin’ started,” Harley says, pulling back slightly to look up at her with a cocky grin. Ivy looks down and their eyes meet, both of them breathing hard. “ _Mais_ –” she shakes her head to clear it, Harley’s running her nails lightly up and down Ivy’s back, dipping below the hem of her skirt, and it’s getting harder to think in English – “but, _cherie_ ” – and here she disentangles herself from Harley’s wandering hands and holds her wrists lightly between their two bodies – “listen.”

Ivy gently pushes Harley backwards, releasing her wrists and brushing back that strand of hair that always seemed to fall in Harley’s eyes, and lowers herself on top of her. The feel of their bare nipples slipping against each other, Ivy’s still wet from Harley’s tongue, is electric and Ivy sees Harley bite her lower lip at the contact. Ivy is on her elbows now, her legs still straddling Harley’s and their chests pressed tightly together.

“Now,” she begins softly, punctuating her words with light rocks of her hips, “our first time together was _incroyable_. But I essentially threw you down on the bed and had my way with you.” Harley starts to speak, and Ivy silences her with a finger to her lips. “I know – you liked it. I can feel how much you liked it. But _cherie_ , you deserve more than a quick fuck. You deserve – ahh” (she trails off here because Harley has sucked that finger into her mouth and is lightly working it in and out, her eyes sparkling with mischief) “you deserve to be worshipped, darling.” She pulls her finger out of Harley’s mouth with a little pop, then covers Harley’s resulting pout with a gentle kiss.

Ivy pulls back a little and says, almost shyly, “May I…what is it…make love to you?”

Harley actually blushes, then nods and pulls Ivy down for another kiss. “Can you ditch the skirt though?” she says against Ivy’s mouth, making her chuckle. “ _Bien sûr_ ,” Ivy said, and reaches between them to undo it, then kicks it down to the bottom of the bed, along with her panties.

Then she nudges Harley’s knees apart and lowers her body against Harley’s once more, this time between Harley’s legs.

They both gasp and their eyes fly together as Ivy’s growing wetness slides directly against Harley’s. Harley clutches Ivy’s ass instinctively and angles her own hips up, pulling her tighter, locking them together. “Holy – I didn’t even know–”

Ivy is barely maintaining control herself. She manages to whisper, “I know, _cherie_ , I feel it too.” She pushes into Harley a little, experimentally, and again the sensation of their wet clits nudging against each other has them both gasping.

Harley reaches up and tucks a lock of Ivy’s hair behind her ear. She pulses her hips upward a couple of times to watch the effect it had on the redhead, and then she says with another one of her cheeky grins, “Can this be how you make love to me?”

“Whatever you want, darling,” Ivy says. She moves slowly against her, ducking her head to nuzzle at Harley’s jawbone, then sucking gently at the tender skin there. Harley, feeling the need growing stronger within her, pushes up against Ivy more urgently. Ivy pulls back and looks at her, then puts a hand on Harley’s hip to still her. “Shh, _cherie_ , relax. I’ve got you, darling.”

Harley lunges up to capture Ivy’s mouth, sucking on her bottom lip and scraping her teeth along it to make Ivy moan. She’s not trying to speed up the pace anymore, but her hands are firmly caressing Ivy’s ass, pulling their most intimate areas impossibly close as Ivy continues her measured thrusts.

Now Ivy starts to increase her pace, her own internal control breaking down. The hotel is still quiet around them, except for the sounds of their bodies wetly slipping together, again and again. Harley’s head falls back and Ivy takes the opportunity to suck urgently at her collarbone, up her neck, murmuring softly in French against Harley’s skin. Her hands tangle in Harley’s hair and the two of them find a faster rhythm, moving together as if this will be their last night on earth, beyond words now, only panting hotly against each other’s skin.

Ivy can feel the moment when Harley gets close – her hips lose the rhythm for a second, jerking faster, and Ivy speeds up to meet her, looking down into Harley’s blue eyes. They’re both mesmerized and can’t look away as they race closer to the edge. They’re sweating and she can feel the growing slickness between their legs, the glide of her clit on Harley’s, each contact sending a shiver through both of them until Harley’s crying out “oh god, oh Red, I’m close!” and then she’s shuddering and gripping Ivy’s ass so hard she knows it will bruise and doesn’t care, and the tremors of Harley’s orgasm send ripples through Ivy, massaging her clit and milking her own shattering orgasm from her. She jerks against Harley one, two, three, four times, presses their foreheads together, kisses the tip of her nose, collapses on top of her in a sweaty tangle of limbs.

“I feel very…loved,” Harley mumbles beneath her, and Ivy’s so exhausted but she can’t help laughing.

They fall asleep, exhausted and sated, still tangled together.

Ivy wakes before it’s fully light outside. She leans on her elbow, rests her head on her hand, and looks at Harley in the light of dawn, sprawled on her back, occasionally chuckling even in her sleep.

After some time, Harley grunts and opens one eye halfway, as if morning won’t find her if she’s hiding. She sees Ivy watching her, and her answering smile is sleepy but radiant. “Whatcha lookin’ at, Red?” she asks in a sleep-gravelly voice.

“You and only you,” Ivy says gently, lightly stroking her free hand through Harley’s tousled hair.

Harley turns to look at her and trails her fingers lightly down Ivy’s arm, watching the path they take. “You could have anyone in the world,” she says quietly. She looks up at Ivy’s face. “Why me?”

Ivy smiles. “Ah, _cherie_ , what can I say…” She pauses to think for a moment, to find the words in English. “You’re…a light in the darkness. You find the humor in even the most desperate situation. I have always put up walls, and you just broke right through them. I find you completely disarming.”

Harley quirks a grin at her. “Know who finds me _really_ disarming?” Ivy tenses almost imperceptibly – another lover she doesn’t know about, perhaps? But Harley continues: “Joker’s Daughter!” Ivy raises an eyebrow. “Get it? Cause, you know, I chopped her hand off to save you, and – _disarming_. Right??” Ivy rolls her eyes, but she snorts out a laugh despite herself and then rolls out of bed.

“Come on, _ma petite comedienne_ , we need to go underground to some secret stores of Selina’s.” She tosses clothes over to Harley, who groans and flops back on the pillows. “Can’t we just stay here, like, forever?” she whines.

“I wish we could,” Ivy says wistfully. “But come, my love – we must hurry underground.”

And she’s too busy retrieving their clothing to see Harley’s smile in response to that simple ‘my love.’ It’s tiny, not her usual goofy grin, yet somehow it still manages to light up her entire face, maybe the world.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, in a way there's some plot. They go underground - that's a thing that happens in the comic.   
> (But then they get sidetracked, because I am just trashy and shameless, and I had to get Ivy into that green dress somehow. Sigh.)   
> Coming in Chapter 6: dialogue!

Harley and Ivy sneak out of the hotel through the same side door they’d entered through. They walk through the streets and alleys of Berlin, cautious and semi-hidden in the light of dawn, stealing glances at one another and smiling uncontrollably.

For Ivy, this is a revelatory experience. Since her accident, she hadn’t experienced feelings in the same way, and she was starting to resign herself to the fact that she might never feel truly connected to a human again. But Harley had changed something inside of her, had broken apart her defenses and poured light into the cracks. She feels, quite literally, like a new person – a hybrid of her pre-accident self and her post-accident self, like Harley has somehow repaired her, has brought her two halves together for the first time.

As for Harley, she’s super happy to be getting laid by someone so beautiful and dangerous, who’s so super good at it, who makes her feel like she’s worthy and calls her ‘my love’ and doesn’t seem to secretly despise her. (She’s also pretty sure she’s in love with Ivy already, but she knows she falls hard and fast and it doesn’t really mean anything unless Ivy feels the same way.)

Ivy’s leading the way, and now she stops, takes Harley’s hand and holds a finger to her lips. She leans in close and whispers, “This is the secret entrance,” and Harley somehow manages to stop herself from saying ‘I’d like to see _your_ secret entrance.’ She giggles, though, and Ivy smiles at her, probably reading her mind, before opening a hidden door that leads to a hidden ladder that leads to a hidden tunnel underground.

It’s damp, and echo-y, and they instinctively grip hands tightly and stay quiet. Ivy must have super night vision or something, because it’s almost pitch black and yet she moves quickly and confidently, pulling Harley along behind her.

Finally, they get down to a level where electric lights flicker dimly overhead and Harley hears water rushing somewhere close by. Ivy says, “We are in the sub-sub-sub-basement. It should be safe to talk now.”

“Ohthankgod!” says Harley in a relieved rush of words. “So here’s what I’ve been thinking.” Ivy looks at her, a little confused. “Oh,” Harley says. “I couldn’t talk for, like, hours, so now I’m going to tell you all the thoughts I had during that time.” She expects Ivy to make a snide comment or roll her eyes, but she just squeezes Harley’s hand and says “I’m listening.”

“Okay. I was thinking, the Nazis should totally make Wanted posters of you and me. And they’d have our faces, and I’d be like this –” she does her best manic Harley grin, adding a wink for good measure – “and you’d be like this.” Harley affects an Ivy face, pouting her lips with her eyes half-hooded.

“Not bad,” Ivy says.

Harley dances a little way down the tunnel, totally engaged in her idea now. “And mine would say _Harleen Quinzel: Blonde. Doctor. Jew._ And yours would say _Pamela Ysley: Smuggler. Botanist. Jew Lover_.”

“Well, that last part is certainly true,” Ivy says, amused at seeing Harley in full swing after she’s been bottled up for a bit.

They come to a door, and Harley stops chattering as Ivy enters the code that will grant them access. The room is entirely nondescript – gray concrete walls, wooden boxes of varying sizes, and the same occasionally flickering electric lights.

Ivy closes and secures the door behind them, then turns to Harley. “We should look for –”

Her words are cut off as Harley jumps at her, throwing her arms around Ivy’s neck and wrapping her legs around Ivy’s waist. Ivy catches her instinctively, thankful for Harley’s slim frame.

Harley’s kiss is surprisingly gentle given the fervor with which she launched herself at Ivy. Her lips are soft against Ivy’s, banishing all thoughts of their current predicament as they take a moment to simply breathe each other in.

Ivy gently lowers Harley to the floor, then bends so their foreheads are pressed together, her arms around Harley’s waist, Harley’s arms still twined around Ivy’s neck. “What was that for, my darling?” she whispers.

“I – guess I just liked the way you were listening to me ramble back there,” Harley says, a little confused herself. “I can be sort of a lot to handle, and…” she trails off.

Ivy gently tips her head up so they’re eye to eye. “Believe me, _cherie_ , I wish to handle all of you.” Harley giggles, and Ivy blushes. “Ha – I meant…” then her eyes darken as she looks at Harley, really taking her in during this moment of vulnerability – “actually, I meant exactly what I said.”

Ivy’s hands start to roam gently at Harley’s waist, stroking her lower back and occasionally dipping ever so gently below the waistband of her shorts. The look of desire in her eyes makes Harley gasp, and Ivy takes the opportunity to fit her mouth over Harley’s and slip her tongue into it, with short licks that ignite Harley’s own arousal.

Now Ivy’s hands slide up, along Harley’s hips and around to the front. She caresses her almost gently through her top, Harley’s nipples straining for more of Ivy’s touch. Harley is breathless as she pulls back slightly and groans, “God, Red, you’ve got me all worked up.”

“Oh, _oui_?” Ivy murmurs against Harley’s neck, where her tongue is currently doing sinful things against her skin. “Well, I –” she sucks on a sensitive spot lower on Harley’s neck – “have been worked up, as you say –” she scrapes her teeth at Harley’s collarbone – “the whole way down here.”

“Me too,” gasps Harley, as Ivy’s lips move further down, heading closer to where Ivy’s still palming her breasts through her top. “I’m wet just from holding your hand, moving through the dark with you, kissin’ on you just a little...” Ivy groans against her chest.

Then Harley pulls back, shaking her head to gather her thoughts a little. “Wait a second! This isn’t fair.” Ivy watches her, lips parted, breathing heavily, not sure where she’s going with this. Harley takes a deep breath. “I mean – our first two times together, were, like, amazing. Best sex of my life.” Ivy quirks an eyebrow at that, amused. “It’s true!” Harley says.

She steps closer again and takes Ivy’s hands in her own, then starts walking backwards, pulling gently so Ivy will follow. She guides her over to a long, wide box and pushes Ivy’s chest gently, making her sit down. Harley walks closer, swinging her hips, spreading Ivy’s legs so she can stand between them.

The box comes up to Harley’s waist, and Ivy’s face is even with Harley’s chest, so naturally she pulls Harley close and buries her face in her breasts, yanking her top down so it dangles around Harley’s waist and her breasts are bared. Ivy flicks her tongue upward against Harley’s taut nipple, over and over, just little upward strokes. Harley moans and leans her head back – then she snaps her head back up. “Wait – ah – wait a second! This is the point I’m trying to make!”

She drops to her knees because she knows if Ivy keeps it up, she’s just going to end up letting herself be swept away and seduced again, and this is the only way she can stay close and still not let Ivy get at her body. “Ives – listen. Both times we’ve been together, it was pretty much you doing awesome stuff to me, and me just like taking from you.” Ivy starts to protest, but Harley leans up and shushes her with a gentle kiss. “And like I said – awesome.”

Now Harley’s hands are on Ivy’s ankles, and she starts slowly trailing them up the inside of Ivy’s legs as she speaks. “But I happen to be crazy about you, and now –” when her hands reach Ivy’s knees, she pushes on them, not too gently, spreading Ivy’s legs farther apart and making Ivy gasp – “it’s my turn.”

Ivy can’t remember ever being this turned on in her life. Harley’s just kneeling there, looking up at her with those blue eyes, and Ivy doesn’t have the words to describe the look in them. Lust is usually nothing to her; she’s used it for manipulation so much that it’s lost much of the charm it once had. But the look on Harley’s face, the way she’s demanding to give Ivy pleasure, the way she’s reflecting Ivy’s own passion and desire back to her – she could combust on the spot.

Harley’s hands are still sliding up Ivy’s legs, up under her skirt, from her knees to the insides of her thighs, tantalizingly slowly. It’s the only place their bodies are touching – Harley’s warm palms against Ivy’s quivering thighs. And she’s keeping that intense eye contact, holding Ivy in place with the force of her gaze alone.

Those hands move even higher, then, and Harley pulls one hand back, resting it on Ivy’s knee. The other hand pauses just as her fingertips graze the uppermost juncture of Ivy’s thigh, brushing right against the bottom edge of her panties.

“I’m going to touch you now,” says Harley in a husky voice Ivy has never heard from her before. Ivy nods and gulps. She knows how desperate she looks, but she couldn’t be farther from caring. Harley squeezes the knee her left hand is resting on, applying light pressure, keeping Ivy’s legs spread as she inches forward her other hand and lightly – so lightly – grazes the backs of her knuckles against the front of Ivy’s panties. Ivy hisses lightly and barely manages to keep her hips from jerking upwards. Harley squeezes Ivy’s knee hard, as if she’s anchoring herself, and bites down hard on her own lip.

Their eyes are still locked on one another as Harley repeats the gesture, still over the panties, dragging her knuckles from where she knows Ivy’s warm, wet center is up to the little nub she can just barely feel through the damp fabric. She likes how Ivy tenses when she grazes over that spot, and now she uses just her first two fingertips to make a light little circle right over Ivy’s clit.

“Jesus, Harley, stop killing me,” Ivy manages to groan out through gritted teeth. Harley just shakes her head in a little _nuh-uh_ gesture and continues rubbing little circles lightly through Ivy’s panties. She trails her fingertips downward, pushing in a little when she reaches Ivy’s center and watching Ivy’s nostrils flare as she struggles to contain herself.

“You’re – so – wet for me,” Harley breathes, applying light pressure with her fingertips to punctuate each word. “I can feel it through your panties.” Now she strokes Ivy from bottom to top and back down again with those two fingertips, repeatedly, increasing the pressure slightly, driving Ivy absolutely mad.

“Please,” Ivy moans, pushing her hips toward Harley just a little bit. Harley cocks her head to one side and says innocently, “What do you need?”

“God, Harley, please touch me,” Ivy begs. And now Harley trails her fingers to the side, running them along the seam of Ivy’s panties before just pushing them aside and – finally! – slipping two fingers between Ivy’s folds.

They both gasp, and Harley’s grip on Ivy’s knee tightens enough to bruise. Harley slowly moves her fingers, still just moving them up and down but now they’re slipping through Ivy’s wetness. “Red, I – oh my god – you feel so amazing,” Harley breathes. She rises up on her knees and leans forward now, to get a better angle. “You’re so hot, so wet…”

Now Harley can’t stand her own teasing anymore. She pulls her hand away and rips Ivy’s underwear off in a single motion, then hastily undoes Ivy’s skirt and pulls that off too. Ivy tilts Harley’s head up, and their lips connect in a frantic kiss, all tongues and teeth and breathless desperation.

Then Harley pulls away and looks at the magnificent sight in front of her. “Can I…?” she breathes. At this point, Ivy is beyond words. All she can do is nod.

Harley bends her head almost reverently. She places both her hands on Ivy’s inner thighs once more, holding her there, and then licks her lips before leaning in.

When she feels Harley’s tongue lick that first stripe from bottom to top, Ivy lets out a little cry and her fingers grip the edge of the box hard enough to splinter it. Harley moans a little against her and repeats the motion, over and over, until Ivy is a panting mess.

Then Harley looks up and meets Ivy’s eyes again. There’s a wicked glint in Harley’s as she lingers at the top this time, circling her tongue lazily around Ivy’s clit, following the path her fingers did just minutes ago. She feels more than hears Ivy’s low groan and speeds up, alternating wet circles with tight little licks up and down.

“ _Dieu_ , Harley, I am so close already,” Ivy pants out.

And Harley keeps her tongue moving against Ivy’s clit as she slides two fingers all the way into her. God, it’s so warm, and tight, and Harley has never felt anything like it. Ivy’s hips move faster and faster as Harley pumps her fingers in and out, in and out, licking at Ivy with the same rhythm until she bucks and cries a long string of French words and her walls tighten and oh god there’s even more wetness and her legs clamp tight around Harley’s head.

Harley licks at her, gently, and slides her fingers out as Ivy pulls herself together after being shattered. She presses a kiss to the inside of Ivy’s knee and then falls backward onto the floor. Ivy would laugh if she had anything left after that. She smiles sort of blearily down at where Harley is collapsed.

“Was that…okay?” Harley asks quietly.  

“ _Cherie_. That was…I see what you mean about the best sex of your life,” Ivy says. Harley grins.

“Now here’s what we’re going to do,” Ivy says, taking control again (neither of them minds it). “I am going to recover for about 4 or 5 years. Then, when I am sufficiently rested, I am going to fuck you up against the wall over there.” She lazily flops a hand toward the wall in question, and Harley’s heart stops beating for a second.

“And then, after I have made you scream my name, we are going to go through these boxes and find me something suitable to wear. Someone has ruined my _lingerie_ and rumpled my skirt.”

She peers down at Harley. “ _Ça va_?” Harley can only nod at her, turned on beyond belief as she lies there on the floor, not knowing what tomorrow holds but with no doubt in her mind that she and Ivy will be able to face it together.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, whaddaya know - I finally got back to the story!   
> This chapter is short, but it gets us back into the Bombshells world. Zatanna and Raven sighting ahead...

“I know there must be something suitable in one of these,” Ivy says absently, rifling through the boxes of smuggled merchandise far beneath the surface of Berlin.

“Mm, I kinda like what you have goin’ on right now,” says Harley from where she’s perched atop a stack of boxes, legs dangling casually as she looks Ivy up and down appreciatively.

Ivy chuckles low in her throat. “ _Merci_. _Quelle chance_ that I found the box with the fancy lingerie first, _non_?” Ivy has found a kelly green set that complements her own lighter shade of green, complete with bra, panties, stockings, a garter belt, and suspenders to hold up her stockings. It’s a sultry look that suits her perfectly, and she knows it.

She turns to face Harley, hands on her hips and a mock-stern expression on her face. “You could help, you know.”

Harley sighs and flops down from the stack of boxes. “Oh, fine. But only because I l– because I loooove looking through giant crates for dresses a librarian would wear.”

“I do not dress like a librarian!” Ivy huffs.

They dig through boxes in silence for a minute, and for once Ivy is the one to break it. She’s been mulling over a topic they’ve discussed off and on over the last day or so.

“Harrrley, _cherie_ …” – she draws out the French “r” sound because she knows Harley loves it – “We came all the way from occupied France to the den of beasts that is Berlin, all for your _sweetheart…_ ” – and oh, but she injects that word with as much venom as Poison Ivy can – “…who, it now happens, you are far less than sweet on.”

Harley walks up behind her and puts her arms around her in a tight hug. “Wellllll, I got _you_ in the errand, so I’d hardly call it a wild goose chase, Pam-a-lamb.”

Ivy blushes, both at the affectionate nickname and because Harley’s hands are wandering down the outside of Ivy’s thighs to pluck at her garter belt and its ribbons. She’s trying to make a point, though, and she knows how easily the two of them can get…distracted. So she spins around in Harley’s arms, pecks her on the nose and gently shoves her in the direction of a crate they haven’t dug through yet. Harley skips over cheerfully and starts throwing clothes out haphazardly while Ivy continues.

“I only mean, ma chère—what happens now? Do you really think that was your erstwhile lover, in the cabaret of the Joker’s Daughter? Or was he but an illusion of hers?”

Harley shivers a bit and says, “I…I don’t know, Ives. But I know…I know I don’t want no part of him.”

Ivy smiles one of her little secret smiles. That’s what she’d expected, but it was a relief to hear it directly from Harley. She reinforces Harley’s sense of independence: “You do not need him, Harley…you have other powers at your disposal.”

Then she finds the perfect dress: green, with a darker green pattern of thorny vines criss-crossing it. Harley is leaning halfway in the box, and when she pops back out she claps her hands in delight at Ivy’s dress, making Ivy blush. (And then she starts juggling champagne bottles, because she’s Harley Quinn.)

They talk about the shortsightedness of the Nazis, and Ivy reveals that she has a more long-term plan. “Luxuries were not the only things I smuggled, Harley. I also smuggled life.”

She reveals the seeds in her palm. Harley doesn’t see her vision yet, can’t see it. So Ivy spins her a tale of sailors and swine as she brings the seeds to glorious life. A sapling sprouts forth, a tree rises from the earth. Flowers bloom from branches…and finally, apples burst to life.

Harley is absolutely mesmerized as this miracle takes place. Her jaw drops, her heart swells. She knew her Pam-a-lamb was special, but this is beyond anything she could have imagined.

She can’t help herself from moving closer, sliding an arm around Ivy’s waist and listening in wonder as she continues. “If we intend to cause much mischief in Berlin, my Harley, I would begin by making sure we plant better weapons than landmines. The day comes in every war when food runs out. You cannot eat bullets any more than kisses, _mon chouchou_ , and–”

Harley is still giggling at the word _chouchou_ when they hear a loud CREEEEAK. Both women spring apart instinctively and freeze, not knowing what monster has found their beautiful oasis beneath the streets of Berlin. Harley whispers out of the corner of her mouth, “I thought the Tenebrae were gone?” and Ivy replies, “All things come back, my Harley” (Harley can feel her pulse skip every time she calls her “my Harley,” and reaches out to tangle their fingers together) “…and troubles do love to come home to roost.”

They hastily concoct a plan, which essentially comes down to Ivy keeping watch while Harley hides behind the door with her homemade mallet. They listen as footsteps draw closer, echoing in the darkened tunnel, and then – “Now, _cherie_!” Ivy shouts, and Harley lets her mallet fly.

Only – it’s not a Tenebrae soldier. It’s…a girl? Harley starts to stammer an apology, but one of the girl’s companions cries “Zatanna!” and then turns on Harley, her eyes blazing, and hisses “You hurt her.”

Ivy stares at her glowing eyes, mesmerized, paralyzed.

Harley says, “I’m sure glad my unsung superpower is to turn everything into a comedy, or else this sure would hurt.”

Then, before Ivy can even react, this – magician? has turned her powers on Harley full force. Ivy barely has time to yell “HARLEY!” before the blast of magic breaks the floor, sending her Harley through it, into whatever mysterious world lies beneath their own.  

And Ivy must summon every ounce of her strength to keep from falling apart.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, the innermost thoughts of Ms. Harley Quinn. 
> 
> Inspired by a couple panels of the comics that I blew up into this fluffy little chapter.

As it turns out, Harley doesn’t fall far, down there beneath the streets of Berlin, but her mind doesn’t know that yet. It’s not like her whole life flashes before her eyes, more like a film reel of the highlights.

There’s a little grade school, a bit of charm school, of course some med school. There’s her family back in Jersey – her charming con man dad, her perpetually tired mom holding it all together, her pesky little brothers.

It must only be a nanosecond, but her mind seems to linger on Mister J for a while. The laughs, the good times, why waste time on the bad stuff when you’re Harley Quinn’s subconscious?

And then – finally – there she is. Green skin, and red hair, and a lilting French accent saying ‘my Harley, my love.’ She enfolds Harley in her warm embrace from behind, and wait a second where is this going because are you supposed to have sex dreams when your life is flashing before your eyes?

Suddenly, Harley snaps out of it. Those aren’t Ivy’s arms – that’s… _Batwoman_??? Maybe she’s dead, because not only did her favorite baseball player just appear out of nowhere and catch her, she made a terrible pun about it. Ergo: this must be heaven.

Harley grabs the arm wrapped around her front with both hands. It’s real. This is happening. Batwoman just caught her and said she prefers batter to catcher. Harley grins up at her, happy to be alive, and says “Ooooh, that joke was terrrrrrible…and I ought to know.”

She realizes she should show some appreciation – she’s learned that not everyone gets her sense of humor. “Oh, my hero!” Harley exclaims, smooching Batwoman on the cheek. “What a catch! You should put the mitt away for good. You’re much better with your bare hands.”

Batwoman isn’t smiling. (But that’s okay, redheads who don’t smile easy are kinda Harley’s thing these days.)

“Selina, is this foul-mouthed ball one of yours, or have the Nazis decided black leather trench coats were too on-the-nose?”

Harley’s not offended that Batwoman called her foul-mouthed. Or thought she might be a Nazi. Batwoman can say pretty much whatever she wants. But wait, that means the glamorous lady in the fancy getup is Ivy’s friend Selina!

Selina laughs and says, “Somehow, I don’t think the Reich has taken to recruiting half-dressed Harlequins.”

Harley considers herself at least three-quarters-dressed today, but lets the comment slide. She jumps out of Batwoman’s arms and adds, “Nor pretty blonde Jewish girls with half a charm school education and a whole whopping medical degree all to themselves.”  

Then she looks up. She was a little distracted by the fall (and the Batwoman). But now she sees her, and they lock eyes, and Selina is saying something but Harley can’t make out a single word because that look of relief on Ivy’s face…Harley doesn’t think anyone’s ever looked at her that way before.

Ivy nimbly leaps down, and Harley maybe isn’t so great with serious feelings but she’s great with jokes, and she says, “Now aren’t you glad you didn’t bury me under your greenhouse?”

They haven’t talked about this…thing between them. They’ve just done what felt right. So Harley doesn’t know what she’s allowed to do, or not do, and she’s feeling a tiny bit weird.

And then Ivy pretty much locks up Harley’s heart when a, she makes a terrible joke (“I’ll bury you in something. Come here”) and 2, she _flies_ into Harley’s arms and they kiss like no one’s watching. God, this woman. Harley doesn’t ever want to let go.

Harley’s pretty sure no one bats (ha! she'll have to remember that one) an eye at their very public display of affection, but then again she’s not paying much attention – she’s mostly focused on not reaching up Ivy’s dress right there.

Ivy pulls back, and Harley pouts a little at the loss of her lips, her tongue. Ivy seems to read her mind and caresses Harley’s lower lip with her thumb before Harley lowers her to the ground.

And wow, turns out there are a bunch of people in this sub…sub…sub…sub? Harley’s lost track – basement. Ivy whispers in her ear, “ _Cherie_ , perhaps we should meet some of the others,” so Harley reluctantly lets go of Ivy’s waist and they mingle.

There’s Selina, who’s elegant and sexy and puts on the carefree air of the truly wealthy, but Harley thinks it’s a mask she hides behind. Harley feels like Selina has a deep sense of social justice, a sort of street-savvy intelligence that Harley can identify with.

There’s Zatanna, and Raven, who are…magic, apparently? Like, real magic, not Harry Houdini wannabes. (And okay, Harley probably shouldn’t be surprised by anything after the zombie Nazis, but she wishes someone else felt how momentous it is that APPARENTLY MAGIC IS REAL. It’s all she can do not to stand on a crate and yell it out.) They have history with that foul Joker’s Daughter, so Harley makes a note to pick their brains at some point. And Zatanna seems to have a thing with John Constantine, who is grouchy and sort of adorable and also probably MAGIC.

There’s a, like, soldier lady or something? Her name is Renee Montoya and she looks like she wants to punch something or shoot someone and yeah, Harley thinks they could be friends.

There’s a kid with a crossbow, and Harley learns that she has other kid friends and they have their own resistance movement! How cool is that? When Harley was their age, a little petty theft was about as much as she got into.

Oh yeah, and frickin’ Batwoman. (Be cool, Harley, be cool.)

And through it all, through a million conversations about smuggling and resistance movements and OH YEAH MAGIC, she feels Ivy all the time. It’s like there’s an invisible _thing_ stretched between them, and if they move too far apart it pulls them right back into each other’s orbit. Harley will be trying to listen to what is actually super fascinating conversation, and she’ll catch herself twirling her pigtail, zoning out as she stares at the gorgeous redhead. Ivy catches her every time, Harley blushes, and Ivy quirks one glorious eyebrow, gives her the tiniest smile and goes back to her conversation.

Yeah, magic is real, all right.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They work a lot. They play a little.

“Protect the people. Use your skills. Make them pay.” Ivy can’t quite make it out the first time, but she hears Harley whispering it, over and over again, and at last she understands.

They’ve all been working hard, there under the ground, each person contributing in his or her own way. Ivy’s a scientist – the chemistry of perfumes and poisons, the biology of plants, these are the languages she understands.

But Harley? Harley understands _people._

Everyone is working so bravely, so tirelessly. The warriors (Montoya, Batwoman, others) discuss strategy. The magicians ( _et quel miracle_ , that real magic exists in this world!) murmur incantations of protection. The people, down to the smallest child, find a way to contribute.

And through it all, she catches glimpses of Harley – her Harley – using her own brilliance in so many ways. She makes the children laugh, flirts with the priest, sticks her tongue out in concentration as she tightens the handle of her mallet. Ivy watches as understanding dawns on the faces of their allies – Selina, Batwoman, Zatanna. There’s always a bit of confusion at first – is she merely a clown? – and then, one by one, these intelligent women see the truth of what lies behind the quips and the cartwheels. Harley reads every room, figures out what role she needs to play, and brings people as much joy as can be found there beneath the streets of Berlin. And the look changes from confusion, to varying degrees of sincere amusement, to appreciation, and finally to respect. Over and over, Ivy watches this happen.

They can’t be together every second, Ivy understands that, but _dieu_ she yearns for her. Yearns to find a secluded corner, to tug out her pigtails, to put her hands all over that tight little body and bury her face against the pulse in Harley’s neck and feel how alive she is, how vibrant. For once in Pamela Ysley’s life, all she wants is to _feel._

But tonight, there is work to be done.

They plan as if there’s a future. Ivy’s glorious trees have matured, and they all take turns harvesting the fruits of the earth and bringing them to the surface, storing food for a tomorrow that may never come.

Ivy is bent over a vat of sacramental wine, adjusting its pH value to make it suitable as an explosive, when she sees Harley descend the stone staircase to take her turn at the harvest.

She also sees Harley look back over her shoulder, quirk one side of her mouth, and give Ivy the filthiest wink she’s ever seen.

Ivy’s breath hitches. She can take a hint.

She finishes her work with the wine, nods an all-clear to the priest, and climbs down into the cool, dark silence after her girl.

Ivy’s altered chemistry means her eyes quickly adjust to the dimmer lighting. Harley’s facing away from her, looking at the tree. Ivy slinks up behind her and delicately places her hands over Harley’s eyes. She feels rather than hears Harley stifle a giggle.

“Ooh, who’s there?” Harley says playfully. “Mm, you smell good, like…honeysuckle and fresh-cut grass, so it must be…Selina?”

Ivy leans forward and, not too gently, slides the bomber jacket down and puts her mouth on Harley’s neck where it meets her shoulder. She sucks on the tender skin there, circles her tongue against it, and Harley lets out a little whimper.

“Ah – you’re too tall to be Selina,” she says, her voice lower now. “Must be – John Constantine?”

Ivy bites down a little at that, and Harley hisses in pleasure and pain. Ivy steps forward and presses herself into Harley’s back, her breasts warm and snug against Harley’s shoulder blades.

Now Harley does giggle. “Well, _those_ pretty much rule out John Constantine! But Batwoman…I should tell you, I’m totally head over heels for this other redhead–”

But she’s cut off, because Ivy has spun her around and pulled her close, and now they’re in each other’s arms, finally, and their lips meet, finally, and Ivy doesn’t know how she’s gone without this for so long because it’s like she can breathe at last.

Harley lets out a little moan when Ivy’s hands roam of their own accord, sliding from their tight grip on her waist down to her hips and then around to cup her ass and pull her close, melding their bodies together like they were meant to be.

“God, Red,” she pants against Ivy’s mouth, “I’ve missed you so much – but – I have to–” and then she throws her head back and can’t finish, because Ivy’s mouth has moved back to her neck, and her tongue is sliding over the mark she made earlier, and Ivy’s strong arms have lifted Harley right off the ground and she instinctively wraps her legs around Ivy, rocking against her, gently at first and then more and more urgently.

Ivy has maneuvered them across the room and now she presses Harley’s back against the wall, her hands still gripping Harley’s ass, meeting Harley’s rhythm as she presses against her. Her face is still buried in Harley’s neck as she murmurs, “ _Oui, cherie_? There’s something you need to…finish?”

Harley releases her legs from where they’re locked around Ivy’s waist and slides down until she’s standing, keeping her arms looped around Ivy’s neck. Ivy raises her head and looks her in the eye, both of them breathing heavily. “There’s so much to do,” Harley whispers.

“Then I will make this quick,” Ivy says. She sees Harley’s eyes widen in the split second before she crushes their lips together again, hungrily, desperately, all lips and teeth and wet, wet tongue.

Ivy moves one hand to the small of Harley’s back and slides the other around to the front of Harley’s soft inner thigh, teasing at the bottom hem of her shorts for only a second before slipping two long, green fingers under the fabric and plunging up, up until she finds Harley waiting and wet.

The tight shorts don’t give Ivy much room to move her fingers, but she doesn’t need it. She twists her wrist just so and looks into Harley’s eyes as she drives two fingers into her. Harley moans, and Ivy stills her fingers inside. “Shh, _ma chère_ , not a sound or I shall have to stop. Do you understand?”

She sees Harley’s eyes darken with arousal at her commanding tone, and Harley nods frantically. “Do you want me to move my fingers?” Ivy whispers, and Harley nods again, wide-eyed and splayed against the basement wall.

So Ivy begins to move. She slowly withdraws her fingers almost all the way, then gently slides them back in. She does this over and over again, until she feels Harley start to buck against her in desperation. Ivy grins wickedly and keeps the same steady pace, but each time her fingers are inside, she scissors them against Harley’s inner walls. Harley bites down on her own lower lip to keep from making a sound.

Ivy shifts her hand to the side just a bit, and it must have made the seam of Harley’s shorts roll right over her clit, because Ivy hears her hiss, sees her tilt her head back involuntarily. “Ah, you like that, do you, _cherie_?” Ivy murmurs, sliding Harley’s shorts back the other way as she continues slowly moving her fingers. Harley meets her eyes again, nostrils flared, and nods.

They hear voices upstairs, faintly, and Ivy knows she needs to give her girl some release soon. She speeds up the torturous pace of her thrusting fingers, rolls Harley’s shorts back and forth over her clit faster and faster, and slips her other hand lower to squeeze Harley’s ass hard. Harley’s right on the edge now, her hips bucking faster, her eyes squeezed shut as she gets closer.

Ivy hisses “Look at me.” And when Harley opens her eyes, the look in Ivy’s makes her fall apart. She shudders, coming all over Ivy’s hand, and Ivy has to surge forward and capture her mouth to cover her cry of ecstasy.

Harley would crumple to the floor right there if Ivy weren’t holding her up. “Red,” she whispers against Ivy’s shoulder. Ivy knows that she means so much more, but that it’s all she can say at the moment.

They barely register the footsteps on the stairs before a voice calls, “Harley, are you okay? Do you need help?”

Harley doesn’t have time to move. She’s still leaning against the wall, catching her breath. But somehow, Ivy is able to gently pull her hand free, put it behind her back as she spins to face the door, and she’s casually reaching up for an apple with her clean hand as one of the parishioners comes through the door. “Oh – I see you have help already,” he says, and Ivy thinks she sees something knowing in his grin as he bows slightly and turns to go out the way he came in.

After they hear him climb the stairs, Ivy turns to look at Harley. “We should…clean up a bit,” she says with a suggestive smile. “I’ll go up first.” She heads for the doorway, pauses, and turns back one more time. Ivy’s voice is quiet, almost shy as she says, “I have been watching how good you are…with people, with so many things. I want you to know, I am thoroughly amazed by you.” She pauses, then adds, “I, too, am heels over head.”

She sweeps out of the room and up the stairs, taking Harley’s breath away with her.

Later, Harley has recovered, they’ve both cleaned up, and they’re back at work. Harley teaches a small crowd how to make Molotov cocktails from the special wine Ivy has prepared, and Ivy takes her turn lugging food out of the basement.

When the Molotov cocktails are completed, the two of them hold hands and make their way to the main room to check in with Selina and Batwoman. And that’s when Ivy hears Harley whispering her mantra, seemingly unaware that she’s saying anything out loud:

“Protect the people. Use your skills. Make them pay.”

 _Oh, my darling,_ Ivy thinks. _I will make them all pay. I would use my skills to kill every Nazi from here to Calais for you, my love._

And she squeezes Harley’s hand, gets a faint smile in return, steels herself to handle whatever task lies ahead.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, they’re about to head into battle, so it’s my last time to give these two the fluffy smut (smutty fluff?) they deserve. 
> 
> This chapter is based on a single panel from Bombshells #50.

It’s been a long night underneath the streets of Berlin.

While they’re united in purpose – to the death, if necessary – they’re all handling the intensity, the exhaustion, in different ways.

Some of them turn to prayer, some to the seductive pull of revenge that burns inside them, and some turn their gaze outward to focus on making this better for others – for the young, the scared, the blameless.

Harley and Ivy turn to each other.

Harley finishes her Molotov cocktails around the time Ivy’s wrapping up her shift harvesting fruit from the cellar, and wordlessly they move together to the main room, to check in with Selina for their next assignment.

As they walk, Harley links her arm through Ivy’s and hugs tight to her side, leaning her head on Ivy’s shoulder. Ivy presses a kiss to the top of her head and smiles.

They’re still in that pose when they enter the command room, and all three of the women who are already present take notice.

Kate and Renee can’t help it – their eyes flick to one another, just for a second, and then away again. In another lifetime, perhaps . . . but everything is different now. Kate smiles to herself, sadly. Renee’s face is a dark mask.

Selina has never seen this side of Pamela before, didn’t know it existed. They’ve known each other in a professional capacity for years, but Pamela has always been so cold, so remote, so closed off. The half-dressed Harlequin has cracked her façade somehow – Selina can almost feel Pamela blooming like one of her precious plants.

“Sergeant Harley, reporting for duty!” says Harley, straightening up to give a mock salute even as her other hand holds fast to Ivy’s. Then she giggles and whispers “Duty” before yawning and leaning against Ivy’s shoulder again.

“We have finished our assignments,” says Ivy. Only the slight slope of her shoulders belies her exhaustion. “What do you need us to do next?”

Selina says, “We need a morale booster. Pamela, do you know how to bake?” Ivy nods. “ _Bien sûr_.”

“Good,” says Selina. “There’s flour and water in the kitchen. Third room on the left.” Ivy nods again and turns to leave, kissing Harley’s knuckles as she lets her hand go.

“What do you want me to do, el capitan?” says Harley.

Selina smiles. “I think it would be best if you helped Pamela in the kitchen.” Ivy pauses at the door and turns back to take Harley by the hand. She looks at Selina. “Thank you,” she says.

“Sir, yes sir!” says Harley with another salute, and then they’re walking out the door and back down the hall.

“You could have had her making more weapons,” Renee says, but her grumbling is subdued.

“I know,” Selina says simply. “But the sun will be up any minute, and we don’t have long. Those two . . . I want to give them all the time I can.” She sighs and says more quietly, “I only wish I could do more.”

Kate walks to her then and puts a hand on Selina’s shoulder. “Hey. You’re doing amazing things here. Without you, these people would have lost hope.”

“Yeah, you’re not bad for a stuck-up socialite,” Renee adds. She shrugs when Kate shoots her a look, but Selina huffs out a laugh.

“So,” Selina says, straightening her shoulders, “let’s go over the plan one more time.”

In the kitchen, Ivy is showing Harley how to make croissants. “See, you roll out the dough _comme ça_ ” – she demonstrates – “and then you roll it up into the, _comment dit-on_ , the crescent shape.”

Harley is standing a few feet behind her. “Speaking of shapes,” she says softly, raking her eyes from Ivy’s toned calves up to her gorgeous thighs and the luscious swell of her ass, “Have I told you how good you look in that dress?”

Ivy blushes and looks back over her shoulder. “Oh, _cherie,_ do you have any idea what you do to me?”

And Harley is suddenly _there_ , pressed snug against her back. “I know _exactly_ what I do to you,” she murmurs against the side of Ivy’s neck in a husky voice as her arms wrap around Ivy’s midsection. Ivy sighs and leans back into her, her head falling back onto Harley’s shoulder so she can slide her tongue along Ivy’s throat.

Then Ivy reluctantly straightens up again, saying with some difficulty, “Ah, I wish we could – but there’s so much still to be done.”

“Well, the way I see it, Red,” Harley says, still in that low voice, still with her lips pressed into Ivy’s neck, her hands now running lightly over Ivy’s torso, “the cat-lady sent us in here together for a reason” – now her hands separate, sliding to Ivy’s hips – “It’s like they say, it takes two to tango, but only one to roll croissants.”

That’s probably not how it goes, but Ivy’s sigh is all the answer Harley needs. She slowly peels off one of her red gloves, making sure to keep it in Ivy’s line of sight, and tosses it to the side. With her still-gloved hand, she slowly pulls Ivy’s hair to the side, exposing her neck further, and then leans up to whisper in her ear, “ _Comment dit-on_ ‘I’m going to put my hands up your skirt now?’”

A shudder runs through Ivy’s whole body at that – god, the things this girl makes her feel – and she reaches back and up with both hands, intending to grab Harley’s face and kiss her deeply.

But Harley pulls back and waggles a finger in her face. “Uh uh, Red – you have a job to do,” she chides. “Now, face front and keep working on those croissants.”

Ah, Ivy thinks. So that’s how this is going to be. She pouts a little, but this game is actually turning her on immensely, so she hums lightly and goes back to rolling out the dough.

Harley drops to her knees behind her, and Ivy bites her lower lip. True to her word, Harley slides one naked hand and one gloved hand tantalizingly slowly up the backs of Ivy’s calves, the outside of her thighs.

And then she gets to the bottom of Ivy’s skirt, and they both freeze. Harley leans her forehead against Ivy’s lower back, breathing hard. “God – Red –” she manages to choke out.

“Shhh, _cherie_ , I know,” Ivy soothes. It’s almost too much, this exquisite torture, this yearning between them, intensified a thousand times by the desperate situation they’re in.

Then Harley starts moving her hands upward again, and Ivy forgets everything except the rough glove sliding up her left thigh, the smooth pale skin sliding up her right.

Harley’s hands slip around from the outside of Ivy’s legs, trail across the backs of her thighs and then inch up her inner thighs. She cups Ivy’s bottom with her left hand, and the glove creates gentle friction against Ivy’s green panties as Harley rubs small circles.

And with her right hand, Harley slowly unbuckles one ribbon at a time, first moving around Ivy’s right leg (snap – snap – snap, until the ribbons flop down) and then giving the same treatment to her left leg, massaging her bottom gently the whole time.

She slides Ivy’s stockings down, first the left leg, then the right, leaving them bunched around Ivy’s ankles. Ivy is still rolling out croissants, and she gasps when she feels air against her backside. Harley has silently stood up behind her and suddenly bunched her skirt up around her waist. She pulls Ivy close again by the hips, and Ivy swears she can feel her heat, her wetness pressing into her green panties from behind.

Then Harley’s lips are on her ear, briefly tugging on her earlobe before whispering, “You know why I had to stand up?” Ivy shakes her head quickly, too turned on to speak. Harley licks the sensitive spot below Ivy’s ear and her breath tickles Ivy’s skin as she rasps, “Your smell was driving me absolutely fucking _crazy_. I almost took you right then, and I want to take my time, to make this so good for you.”

Ivy groans. She’s sure that the simple action of rolling dough is the only thing keeping her from bursting into flames on the spot.

“Do you want me to touch you now?” Harley breathes, her hands still resting lightly on Ivy’s hips, holding her skirt up, nuzzling her neck from behind.

Ivy nods.

“Are you good and wet for me?”

“Oh god, baby, _please_ ,” Ivy moans. “I’m so, so wet for you.”

And Harley finally takes mercy on her girl. “Bend over a little,” she says, and Ivy obeys. Harley holds her skirt up with one hand and pulls her panties down – just to mid-thigh – with the other. She bites back a groan of her own at the sight of that beautiful, smooth green skin, knowing it’s hers to explore with fingers and lips and tongue, hers to claim with teeth and nails.

Harley runs her naked hand over Ivy’s bottom, so lightly, caressing the swell of her cheeks, then finally dipping lower, between Ivy’s legs. She gently spreads Ivy’s thighs apart with her fingers, and then slips two fingers into Ivy’s waiting wetness.

A tremor runs through Ivy at the contact, and Harley bites down on her shoulder at the feel of her. “Ah – Red – you weren’t lying,” she says, almost reverently, stroking gently up and down between Ivy’s lips, marveling at the slippery heat. She slides her fingers forward to tease at Ivy’s clit, then back to swirl in the wetness of her center, over and over again.

Ivy’s hips are bucking back and forth now, and she’s squeezed the croissant into a shapeless mass. “Just –”

“Just what, sweetie?” Harley murmurs in her ear.

“Just _fuck_ me already,” Ivy groans.

And just as Harley slides two fingers slowly into her –

They hear a voice. A sinister, German-accented, mocking voice. It’s everywhere.

The Nazis _know._

They’ve been betrayed.

There’s no more time.

Harley slowly withdraws her fingers, gently replaces Ivy’s panties, smooths her skirt down, grips her shoulders as they listen to the message. She holds Ivy close and presses another kiss to the back of her neck, this one more gentle.

Ivy turns in her arms and they embrace. She pulls back to plant kisses on Harley’s face, kissing her lips, her cheeks, everywhere she can reach. It’s wet and salty – they both have tears in their eyes.

Then Harley grips her by the shoulders again. “We can do this, Red. We’re stronger than they know.”

Ivy nods, and takes Harley by the hand. “The night is over. Time to fight.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, my girls. Battling Nazis and still finding time for fluff.

_We’re gonna lose._

The fight has just begun, and already Harley is shaking her head, trying to clear it of traitorous thoughts, un-Harley-like thoughts. Foolish, irrational optimism is kinda her thing, right?

But – but – they had a plan. It was a long shot, yeah, but they were talking strategy and making bombs and all those good brave people were ready to fight – and then it all went to shit.

Betrayal. Nazis. The world is exploding in red and black, and not in a good way, not in a Harley way.

The plan had felt like . . . hope.

This feels like a last desperate stand.

 _Focus, Harl! We have BATWOMAN. Do they have a Batwoman? I don’t think so._ Harley’s self-talk is actually working (well, a little bit anyway). _Chin up, buttercup! Let’s do this thing!_

And then the gas hits, and Harley is coughing, helpless. And worse, she sees Batwoman coughing, helpless.

But then.

Then she hears HER.

Hears the voice of her love, ringing out above the din, cold with derision and burning with fury.

“Poison? You thought you could use poison . . . against _me_?”

Harley’s still coughing, eyes still watering, but now she sees her.

And maybe it’s the gas . . . maybe it’s that she’s sunk to her knees trying to expel it from her lungs . . . or maybe it’s her feelings, complicated and the simplest thing in the world . . . but she swears Ivy _towers_ over them all, suddenly appearing out of the fog like – like a goddess who’s been wronged, an Amazon in the heat of battle, a really angry piece of broccoli (Harley giggles, maybe she breathed in a little too much of that gas).

But god. She’s never seen anything more beautiful, more deadly. Ivy’s hands are raised for battle. Her eyes blaze. The gas itself seems to shrink away from her, as if its very molecules know to fear her.

It’s the sexiest fucking thing Harley has ever seen in her life.

She forces herself to focus. Red is speaking again, putting the Nazis in their place. “You thought we could be controlled – like pretty flowers in a hothouse garden. You thought we were roses and daisies and shrinking violets – but we are _wild things_.”

 _Hell yeah, that’s my girl!_ thinks Harley, taking an experimental breath. The gas is already starting to wear off, to slink back into its canisters, to run from her avenging angel.

The idiot Nazi is jabbering on about some anti-magic ring, but her Red cuts him off:

“You idiot boy – this isn’t magic. This is _science_.”

And her vines suddenly surge up, everywhere at once, crushing cans of poison with precision like they were made of paper, inconsequential in the face of such righteous violence.

“This. Is. Me.”

She is terrifying, unstoppable, literally a force of nature – and, Harley remembers suddenly, probably super sexually frustrated from when they got interrupted in the kitchen.

Those bastards don’t know what hit ‘em.

But then something shifts, the Joker’s Daughter calls another Raven who isn’t their Raven but maybe is the real Raven? (because MAGIC IS REAL) and then the ground is rumbling and Ivy has done all she can with the gas.

As the team regroups, they run to one another, knowing they shouldn’t, it’s not the time, but screw that and now Harley’s in her arms, clinging to her, kissing her face desperately and nothing else matters.

“Pamela!” says Selina.

“Seriously, you two!” says Renee Montoya.

Harley blushes and jumps down, pecks one last kiss on Ivy’s nose as the battle rages around them. “Love you, babe! That was super hot! And I’m going to finish you off later, don’t you worry about that!”

Now Ivy blushes a deep green, and even Montoya can’t completely hide her smile.

Batwoman says, “Harley!” and as Harley skips off, she calls back, “We can catch up later, Other Red – it’s time to go do my Harley thing!”

_We’re gonna win._

Harley is back, baby, and it’s time for some action. She throws herself into it wholeheartedly: denting helmets, breaking kneecaps, wreaking havoc of the mallet variety wherever she can.

Finally, the tide starts to turn. (Just like Harley knew it would.) Giant Real Raven seems to be on their side now, and Joker’s Daughter is getting desperate.

And then she sees it. It’s big, brown, and glorious.

Harley knows just what to do.

A German pun here (come on Harley, you’re better than this!), a well-placed mallet strike here – and the giant water barrel comes crashing down on the Nazis. On their tank, their heads, and – oh, did the wittle baby lose his special magic ring? HA!

Harley just looks at ‘em. “You really wanna knock ‘em dead – you’re gonna need a bigger hammer.”

And she skips off to find her next fight.

_We won._

The battle is over. Baseball players, magicians, socialites, giant magic ladies, friends, neighbors, lovers – they came together and defeated evil.

The war’s not won, but they’ll live to fight another day.

Harley and Ivy stand with the others, back to back as Harley comforts a little girl and Ivy tries to rationally explain to a little boy how her plants were able to neutralize the poison gas. (It makes Harley giggle. Ivy is so adorably inept with children.)

“Ives?” Harley says, still resting her hand lightly on the little girl’s shoulder.

“Mm?” says Ivy.

Harley leans back against her a little. “What you said today . . . when you were being a super hot green goddess of vengeance . . . I keep thinking about it.”

“Which part?” Ivy asks.

“Well,” says Harley carefully, “you made me realize that Mister J – hell, every man in my life, from my father on down – wanted to see me as a flower to be controlled. But you, Red? You let me be a wild thing.”

She can’t see Ivy’s face, but she hears the smile in her voice. “ _Chère,_ I don’t ‘let’ you be anything. You _are_ a wild thing. A foul-mouthed, optimistic, bad-pun-making wild thing. And . . . I love you for it.”

Now Harley spins, pulls Ivy around to face her, nuzzles against Ivy’s neck as they hold each other tight. For once, she’s speechless.

Ivy murmurs, “I’ve been thinking about what you said, too.”

“Hmm?” says Harley absently.

“ _Oui_ ,” Ivy says, mischief creeping into her voice now. “And I don’t know where we’re going, or what lies ahead – but I am going to take you up on your offer to, how did you put it? – finish me off.”

Harley lets out a surprised laugh and pulls back to look Ivy in the eyes. “Win a battle, make a joke?” she says. “Dr. Ysley, I do believe I might be rubbing off on you.”

Ivy pulls her close again, buries her face in Harley’s hair and says, “More than you know, my love. More than you know.”

There’s a flash of white light, growing brighter and brighter until they can’t bear it.

And suddenly, they’re not in Berlin anymore.


End file.
